Skyline
by Faulty Paragon
Summary: When facing the skyline of a city that was leaving him behind, what was he to do other than take that last step? [Zexion/Demyx] with hinted[Zexion/Marluxia]


A/N: First fic up here. This used to be on a different site with a different pairing, but now I've decided to transfer my stuff here. Never thought that my first fic here would be Zemyx, however... oh well. Enjoy!

* * *

SKYLINE

It would all be over if he took that one little step.

It was funny, just how fragile a life could be. Twenty-four years of work, of _life_, all swirled into one meaningless mess behind his eyes. All of those years no longer meant anything to him – all the tears, the laughter, the anger and the love, none of that would hurt to erase. It would be so easy to take just that one step forward, just one foot away from his painfully bloodied, bare feet, to send him toppling to meet the welcoming embrace of the cracked pavement below.

The sky was beautiful, that day they met, as he pondered this – his life, the one step, everything. From the pale white stucco rooftop he stood upon (which stood out when surrounded by the cold concrete buildings trapping it on either side) to the setting sun, casting the shadows of clouds into the sky, making the eternal stretch of sky appear to be a little piece of heaven, he knew that nothing really mattered anymore. The skyline of the city stood before him, majestic and proud, the city lights slowly turning on as day turned into night and work turned into play.

The rooftop he stood upon had simply been a place where he used to go to think. It was the one old-fashioned building drowning in a sea of industry, and the view of the city had always been the most gorgeous from the westerly corner. In actuality, it was simply an old apartment building; the residents were mostly retired couples and quiet families, and he himself. Due to his quiet existence in the apartment, no one had ever questioned his trips to the roof to think in the past.

It was the perfect place to see at the end of his life.

As his injured feet – torn from the broken mirror inside his apartment – stumbled towards the precarious drop before him, he looked up once more, the sad realization striking him at last. No one would even notice if he left. After all, the sun would still shine, the children would still play, the grass would still grow, and the city would still live on, all without him.

He extended one foot off the edge and shifted his weight forward, hanging onto the rails. Just as he was about to let go, however, a pair of strong, slender arms pulled him back with enough force to keep him from falling to the pavement below. After that, it was just a blur – the person helping him back over the railing, the worried shaking, the eternal questions.

When he was finally able to tune in, the first thing he saw was _him __– h_is face, calculating, stern eyes hidden behind a sheet of silky ashen hair, his snub nose and thin lips moving methodically as he quizzed him, trying to get any information he could. Yet, for whatever reason, the words just wouldn't form in his own, dry mouth. All he could mouth was his own name, but after that, his mind drew a blank as he watched this new figure speak so robotically to him. His voice was lost somewhere in his throat, deep within his heart, which had already closed itself off – why was it being so suddenly burst open again? Why was he supposed to speak? He had prepared himself – shut himself away – tied up his sadness to leave this darkening world behind-

The stranger, albeit being the smaller of the two, pulled him up and pulled one of his arms around his shoulders, helping him walk down two flights of stairs, where he was led down the hall afterwards. The spotted mahogany carpet was stained slightly from his bloodied feet, leaving a trail of injury behind him. Finally, the other man pulled a key from his pocket and opened the chestnut door at the end of the long corridor.

He barely even registered the fuzzy blanket being wrapped around his shoulders, or the steaming mug of coffee placed in his hands, warming them from the outside chill.

"I'm Zexion. You can trust me."

"Demyx." Again with those words, he looked up, and in those dark blue eyes, he saw a glimmer of confusion, of pity, of understanding. The man was concerned about him, worried about a stranger. That simple thought pulled the corners of his full lips upward into a smile before he finally took a haughty draught of the coffee, placed the mug on the table, and promptly fell asleep in his chair.

* * *

Zexion didn't know where in the world Demyx's sudden silence came from.

He had seen the blond many times around the apartment building itself, be it from coming back each evening from a run or when he was grocery shopping. As the only person in the building with such an odd hairstyle – after all, how did one even ask a hairdresser to give them a Mohawk and a mullet at once? – he had been hard to miss, Zexion's eyes always immediately following his figure within the crowd. He had known little about him in the past, but the academic had never really been interested enough in others in the first place to actually find out more about him. Demyx had always seemed like just another man without a goal in life who was wandering the streets aimlessly day by day, and people like that irked Zexion. With the economy falling to record lows in the last few years, whenever he saw humans who weren't working to restore social and economical balance as he was, it made his blood boil.

The man's only true distinguishing positive feature was that Demyx was always smiling. Around him, it appeared to be like the sun never stopped shining, like the clouds never entered his field of vision. Zexion knew that the majority of residents within the building liked the young, lively man despite his jobless state, due to his attractiveness (which he couldn't see, since to Zexion the blond looked simply socially strange more than anything) and his willingness to help the older folk within the complex. Still, Zexion couldn't stand him. To the hardworking researcher, people like Demyx were better off not existing at all.

Yet, seeing the taller going towards the rooftop that day as the academic had returned from a long day at the university's laboratory office had given him an ill premonition. For some reason, a dark feeling had grown deep within the pit of his stomach, and against his better judgement, Zexion had followed him up the tiny staircase leading to the roof. The trail of bloody footprints didn't help his discomfort any. However, when that silhouette against the setting sun appeared before his uncovered eye as the figure stood poised, ready to jump, the man couldn't help but to act. It didn't matter that Demyx's meaningless daily actions bothered him – he refused to let the other's death stain his memories.

Demyx was so dazed by the time he tried to speak to him that Zexion simply decided to bring him to the scientist's home instead of taking him to his own residence. If the man was willing to jump off of the roof, if he was left alone in his own apartment, there was no saying what damage the blond would inflict upon himself.

However, after introducing himself to him, said man simply nodded, smiled, and fell asleep – and when Zexion saw that smile, his heart squeezed tightly. The smile that Demyx showed him was quite unlike the bright, sunny one the always seemed to share with the rest of the world. No, this smile was so, so different. It was the smile of a child who had resigned themselves to their fate, as if they had given up in life. Seeing that, it took all of Zexion's willpower not to gather the strange man in his arms and just try to assure the other that everything would be okay.

That idea itself was ridiculously uncharacteristic of Zexion, and that itself set off warning bells within his mind. Zexion was a researcher, a man of intellect and fact and science – in fact, that entire evening had been nothing but a huge fiasco. Why in the world had he been so compelled to help this utter stranger? Demyx meant nothing to him, meant nothing to _anyone_ – he was simply a blip on the grand world they lived in, and unfortunate experiment landing just inside the world's margin of error as it tried to produce upstanding citizens. Why would a death mean anything to Zexion?

As the other slept, Zexion studied his features, sitting across from him at the dining table. His face was quite distinct – large eyes, a slightly pointed nose, and an all-round boyish, youthful face which screamed of fun and naivety. With strands of his dirty blond hair escaping the gel holding up the top of his strange faux mohawk and falling into his soft face, lips pursed in his irritation at the sensation, Demyx looked like the epitome of innocence.

That was when Zexion remembered his feet. As quick as he could, he retrieved first aid items from the bathroom and cleaned the wounds, silently acknowledging the utility of the emergency help training he had gone through before becoming a permanent addition to the response team in the chemistry wing of the university. Even though it must have stung immensely, Demyx was such a heavy sleeper that he didn't even stir throughout the ordeal, instead remaining still even as the other had bandaged his feet. It was clear that the man had stepped on broken glass. Putting away the supplies, Zexion could only add the question of the wounds to the ever-growing list of queries he held for the strange man after his rest.

And so, he continued with his nightly routines, leaving the damaged man to rest at small dining table. His files and data folders were spread promptly across his work desk in the next room, and so, he began to work.

Whatever had happened to Demyx, the questioning would have to wait until he awoke. Although normally the scientist would be extremely suspicious of any stranger, and while he would most certainly never bring an unknown being into his home, he knew that if he didn't do something, the resting man could do something to himself that Zexion would never be able to live with. After all, Zexion prided himself on his work, his research, and his potential to improve the future with his intellect.

And, if Demyx died now, it would only be because Zexion hadn't been capable of stopping him, wouldn't it?

* * *

"Am I correct in assuming you are now hungry?" Clad in a comfortable pair of dark khakis and a warm zipped up sweater, Zexion had walked out from his bedroom to see a pair of slightly confused, inquisitive eyes watching his every move. "You must be. What would you like to eat?" Not even waiting for his answer, he strolled into the kitchen past the seated man and ducked his head calmly into the refrigerator.

No words were his reply as Zexion instead heard the man stand up slowly and stumble, clutching onto the table for support as the injuries finally made themselves known. After a moment, Zexion stood straight and turned, only to see the almost comical figure attempting to shuffle over to the man on his knees, having given up on the idea of walking completely.

As a child might, Demyx simply pulled at the lower hem of his khakis lightly and pointed to the rice cooker when rested upon the counter, gazing up with big blue doleful eyes.

The researcher understood his message with a curt nod, pulling out side dishes from the fridge, praising himself for having put some rice for cooking the moment he had gotten home from work. At least the pair wouldn't have to wait long for their evening meal.

As they sat down at the table, Demyx with his legs folded into his body on the chair and awkwardly reaching around his knees to gobble down the food, and Zexion sitting upright, the sheer epitome of prim and proper, the man finally murmured, "So, Demyx, what do you do for a living?"

The man simply shook his head. "You don't work?" He scoffed, unsurprised by that piece of knowledge. He had figured as much, with the other's frivolous behaviour in the past. "Well, do you go to school?"

Demyx furiously chewed and swallowed before finally muttering, "Used to."

It was the first time he had ever heard the tenor voice directed at him, and it would be a lie to say that Zexion didn't like it. Demyx's voice had a certain melodious ring in it, one that seemed a harsh contrast from his ragged figure. Tersely shifting his posture, Zexion continued, "What did you take in school?"

He waved his arms about his head as if that would explain his major. When he realized the stiff man still had no idea as to what in the world he was doing, he explained, "Music."

The thought of Demyx in a practice room took him aback for a moment, but he didn't spend too much time pondering that image. Instead, Zexion murmured, "If all you do is perform all day, why would you worry about things enough to kill yourself? It's not like you're actually working to make the world a better place." He muttered the last part underneath his breath.

The blond's face fell, a clear indication that he had heard the frustrated comment at the end. "I…" The man seemed to have trouble finding the correct words to say. "I can't play anymore," he whispered at last, shame and guilt plaguing his features, mind obviously still thinking about the earlier harsh reprimand. "I just didn't know what to do."

Zexion's stern face softened at his expression. "And why not?"

Wordlessly, he pulled up the leg of his baggy trousers, exposing puffy, blaring crimson scar tissue extending from just above his kneecap towards his ankle. "Shattered my leg during my last performance – it was outdoors. The rain on that stage was terrible," he murmured, before pulling up his sleeve and revealing long, intimidating surgical scars moving from his elbow up to his hands. "Can't move my fingers or arms as fast anymore, either." The rest remained unsaid. Zexion could only imagine how painful that injury would have been, wincing at the sight of it.

"Was there no operation that could save you?"

"It was too expensive."

He grew flustered at that reply. Money had never been an issue for him as the university supported him for his research, despite the world's economy falling apart in the recent years, so he didn't know how to reply when someone suffered because of it. "So you don't work anymore at all? How do you make ends meet?"

Demyx shook his head. "I got a lot of prize money from performing in competitions before. Now, I can't even find a job that I'm even qualified for. Don't really want one, to be honest." He spoke slowly, as a child would when they had just woken from deep slumber and were still halfway to dreamland.

"So why jump?"

"I was lonely." He shrugged at the disgusted expression he received, continuing to eat. As he took the last bites of the food, he curled up in the blanket surrounding his shoulders even further, burying his head inside of it until only his eyes were visible.

The scientist didn't like it when people ignored him – despite his young age and small stature, he had always been a voice of authority, someone to heed. "Why did you do it? What compelled you to take such inefficiently drastic measures? Wouldn't it make more sense to find another option?" he pressed.

A pause, before Zexion finally saw the tears filling up large, innocent eyes, and muffled voice murmured from underneath the blanket, "Why are you assuming I've ever seen more than _just one option_?"

The academic could say nothing to that.

* * *

Demyx continued to stay at his home. The reason why was unclear to the working man, but he didn't object. It was more convenient for the other man to stay in his apartment where he could be monitored rather than allow him return to his own home and hurt himself further. To be honest, he was a bit like a pet – during the day, while at the lab, Demyx did as he pleased, and when the man returned, he would be in the house awaiting Zexion with a warm, silent smile.

_Why am I even helping him? _Zexion hated charity cases in most circumstances. _One who cannot live out life by oneself must suffer the consequences, _he had always believed. Whenever those left in hunger upon the streets approached him as he made his way to and from the office each day, he would walk away disdainfully, no matter how young the child, no matter how old the veteran. One either fed themselves or died in those harsh days.

Yet, as he looked at this man, he felt a strange stirring in his heart, as if his soul was reaching out to the broken man. It always did that when he was around. At first, Zexion had ignored it – it was merely pity and disdain, he told himself. It was nothing but pity for this soul who didn't have anything else to look forward to in his days other than this sore excuse of companionship. The researcher had investigated around the building, inquiring the older residents about his houseguest's life. According to everyone in their complex, no one had ever visited the man. He had no family, he had had no friends or acquaintances to keep him company. So, while the people whose lives were touched by his smile, his friendliness, his willingness to help with chores and carrying goods, they had never been a permanent influence upon his life.

_He's wearing the same clothes every day, _he noticed dimly one evening as he prepared two plates of pasta for their dinner. Although he had forbidden the other man from leaving the apartment, in fear that he would do anything drastic while she wasn't around, it also wasn't practical of him to remain in the apartment home without any change of clothes or proper toiletries – Zexion was too small to offer his clothes to Demyx, who was a good six inches taller than him. So, four days after their initial encounter, the diminutive man had taken the other (practically having to drag him by hand) to his apartment to pack a few of his belongings up to take back to Zexion's place.

As they entered his home, the hand holding onto Zexion's tightened his grip. Demyx began clutching onto the back of his shirt desperately, burying his face in the smaller man's neck. Zexion could feel the tremors rumbling throughout his body, the fear making the former musician's palms clammy and slippery. It was quite uncomfortable to the scientist, who hated both the amount of contact and those who cowered themselves. Still, he allowed Demyx to use him as a support as they waded through the dark apartment.

Zexion's hands felt around the walls calmly until he found a light switch, flipping it to illuminate the apartment. Demyx instantly shrivelled up into a terrified ball, wrapping his arms tightly around Zexion's torso, burying his face in the smoky hair. "Can we go?" he whispered, voice small and shaking.

A part of the younger wanted to punch Demyx where in hurt, while another part wanted to pull him into his arms and tell him everything would be okay – two disgustingly uncharacteristic reactions for the man. Yet, Zexion listened to neither, opting to loosen the other's hold upon him so that he could at least shuffle about, examining the apartment.

The place itself was quite bare, holding only a television and a small armchair in front of a low traditional eating table, a cushion placed upon the floor presumably where the man would dine. The walls were completely barren, save for one little cabinet in the corner of the room. Approaching the glass case, his eyes popped open in wonder as he took in the site of trophy upon trophy, each commemoration a testimony to Demyx's former design.

_He really was talented, _the researcher realized at last. Before, the sheer loss his accident must have been never really registered in the man's mind – instead, he had brushed it off as an exaggeration, as someone complaining of never making it big in a world that was always too far from their reach. Looking at these past accomplishments, however, it was clear to see that the accident hadn't merely ruined his body – it had robbed Demyx of his future, too.

"I'm… sorry," Zexion whispered, unconsciously stroking the blonde head which still rested upon the nape of his neck. "I'm sorry, about what has happened."

Only a muffled whine was the response since the man was still refusing to lift his head and look at the apartment he had left behind. So, Zexion continued on the search for his bedroom.

Due to the fact that all the layouts were similar in that building, he found his goal off to the left with relative ease – the whole place was merely a carbon copy of his own apartment, except in reverse. As he entered, turning on the light, however, he couldn't help but suck in a startled breath at the sight illuminated before him, unknowingly covering his mouth to stifle small cries of shock.

The entire place looked as if a bomb had gone off.

"Demyx, what in the world happened here?" he hissed, but the other man said nothing, continuing to simply whimper and tremble in terror instead. Frustrated, he sighed, running hands through his grey hair before entering the disaster zone.

Everything had been upended – drawers were thrown everywhere, the contents lying scattered throughout the room. The desk which rested in the corner was broken clear through, the tabletop smashed and splintered, a huge, gaping hole right in the center of it. A mattress lay in the corner, looking as if a knife had been plunged in and out repeatedly, the stuffing popping out of long, dangerous cuts in the material. The window was cracked, probably because of a thrown object – said object lay upon the ground, the flashlight heavy and metal, the beam on but clearly about to die at any moment. A lamp had been shattered into pieces, the fragments of the broken light bulb dangerously spread across the floor.

Stepping carefully through the rubble, Zexion made his way through to the room he guessed was the closet. Demyx had opted to wait for him while squatting upon his heels, arms wrapped around his knees and head buried in his sleeves defensively so he wouldn't have to see the mess before him. As he slid open the door of the closet, all Zexion could see was a mess of clothing, garments shoved into every nook and cranny. It wasn't even that there were many things to wear; the space was just so ridiculously unkempt that the entire place was filled.

Seeing that his ward was still terrified of the place for some unknown reason, he quickly pulled out what possible required items were necessary – two sets of clothing, a few undergarments from the drawers at the bottom of the mess, a pair of nice shoes and some socks before heading back towards the man. "I'm back," he murmured tersely, and instantly, the blond flew upwards to latch onto Zexion's back once more. The academic chuckled mirthlessly before heading towards the bathroom to retrieve any toiletries.

As he pushed open the door to the bathroom, however, a desperate plea spilled forth from Demyx's lips. "Don't go in there!"

Zexion frowned, but upon flicking on the light, he knew exactly why the terror had been so fresh in the other man's tone. Horror filled his throat. The floor was covered in the shattered, sharp edges of the bathroom mirror, dried blood crusting around the dormant glass. The walls even had bloody handprints upon them, and the medicine cabinet was ajar, showcasing a myriad of opened and knocked over bottles, the pills scattered inside. And that wasn't even the worst part.

Sitting in the bath tub, covered in blood and broken to nothing but a mess of splinters and wires, was the ragged remains of what Zexion could barely identify as a guitar of some sort. It was completely unsalvageable, lost and broken for the darkness to take it.

Without a second look, he flicked off the light and guided the frightened man back to the front door. There were no words that could have possibly described how he felt at the moment, the mixture of concern for Demyx, fear of what he was capable of, and uneasiness at having let such a man into his own home overwhelming the tense man. Said man never even looked up until the door had closed behind him and he let out an audible breath of relief.

"I don't want to go back there," he murmured sadly. Looking at his scared, solemn expression, Zexion found himself nodding, manoeuvring the bundle of his clothing so as to be able to wrap a comforting arm around Demyx's shoulder. "You don't have to until you're ready," he murmured quietly, and before he could stop himself, he pressed a caring kiss upon the musician's cheek. Instantly, Zexion let go and continued down the hall, surprised and flustered at his own action. What was he doing?

Yet, as they reached his front door and entered his home at last, Demyx caught his arm and spun him round to look at him. And, seeing his gaze, Zexion could no longer deny that he was handsome, because when he flashed that open-hearted loving smile his way, for reasons his intellectual mind could not even begin to fathom, in his eyes, the injured, broken man was the most beautiful creature in the world.

* * *

"Why are we on the roof, Demyx? Should I be worried?"

The man shook his head, pointing out the beautiful cityscape before them. "I just wanted to show you," he murmured, holding on to Zexion's waist from behind with his other arm. Whenever the pair left the apartment together – which was very rare, since he mostly remained inside – he would stick to the other man like glue, as if he would disintegrate into nothingness if he wasn't in contact with the smaller of the two.

Zexion frowned, but turned his attention to the view just the same. "It's nice," he agreed, slightly disgruntled by the man's excitement over the colours light made when filtering through smog.

Demyx chuckled, happy that the other had responded. "This was my special place," he explained slowly. "I came here a lot to think about life."

The researcher cocked his head, thinking. "Do you come here anymore?"

"No."

"I take it you have a reason why?"

He smiled, reaching around from behind and pressing his full lips without warning into Zexion's exposed collarbone. "I used to come here to think about bad stuff, but now there's nothing bad to think about with you."

Ending the conversation at that, Zexion extracted himself from the other man's grip and quickly strode to the staircase. He had work to do, and the other was becoming a distraction.

Ignoring the part of the his mind urging him to accept his longing for said distraction, he left the other man behind, inadvertently missing the moment that the musician's eyes fell shut as he basked in the warmth of the other man's skin against his lips.

* * *

Since the day that they had gone to get his belongings, the pair had never gone back to Demyx's apartment, nor had the scientist ever questioned what had gone on in the musician's room, in the bathroom. Those were his own demons, and he would share in his own time should he deem it necessary. It was none of Zexion's business, and as it was clear that Demyx wasn't dangerous, that he wouldn't do anything to hurt his host, the idea of making him leave never really struck the man. Instead, Zexion found himself revelling in the fact that Demyx was speaking to him more, finding himself oddly delighting in the little conversations the pair managed to create. As he wasn't a conversationalist on the best of days on subjects other than his own field of study, it was an unnerving realization. Thankfully, for the most part, however, they simply sat in silence – Demyx wrapped up in his little blanket (which he had claimed to be his since he had first wrapped it around him, deciding to constantly be snuggled up inside it) and Zexion doing what the lab needed for any upcoming research.

So, when he first brought home Marluxia, it had taken a little bit of explaining to make the good-looking man from the Faculty of Botany understand why there was a strange man living quietly in the researcher's apartment. The man didn't question Zexion's intentions – he had known the younger ever since he was in his final year of his Bachelor's degree, and he knew that Zexion wouldn't do anything unless he was confident in it.

That was one of the reasons why Marluxia had fallen in love with him, after all.

After hearing Zexion's concise, cynical explanations, because of his affection towards the younger researcher, the well-groomed man had greeted Demyx with open arms. There wasn't any point in doing otherwise – on the way to his apartment, Zexion had run down the jobless man's history and their relationship, so Marluxia understood where the other was coming from. It was better to play nice and become closer to the man than create a problem.

Demyx, on the other hand, bristled instantly at the sight of the rose-haired man. Wrapped protectively in the blanket, he had run to Zexion as the newcomer took a seat at their dining table. He had already put on a practical apron and begun to make dinner – a rare steak it seemed that night, to celebrate company, since it was hard to come by like-minded researchers in such strange times – so Demyx simply scurried to where he stood and pulled at his shirt just like he had that first evening to get the smaller man's attention. He never helped with meals, after an early incident had revealed how he had been fed mostly by his music instructors who pitied his tendency to flood every kitchen he touched.

"Demyx, what is it?" he murmured, irritated at the distraction. It had been a while since he had made the dish, so he was slightly stressed out – he had harboured feelings of deep respect towards Marluxia's work deep in his heart for years, and he didn't want to make his colleague doubt his capabilities in tasks as mundane as cooking. After all, which other man would accept so openly what he shared with Demyx and continue to respect his work? He couldn't afford to mess up.

Still, he pulled, harder this time. Turning to look down at the man, Zexion hissed, "What do you think you're doing, Demyx? Let go of me and wait for dinner. I'll call you." When he didn't move, he yelled in a whisper, uncovered eye holding a dark gaze, threatening, "_Now._"

The innocent man's face fell at the harsh tone, and instantly, he regretted it. Demyx stood and ran out the front door. He had always been one to easily cry, Zexion had found, so the waterworks had already begun by the time he slipped on his shoes and made a break for it, allowing his beloved blanket to drop from his shoulders onto the unfeeling tile floor.

It was the first time Zexion had ever snapped at him.

"Demyx, don't!" the smaller man cried, throwing off the apron, a strange feeling of fear spiking up within his gut. Shooting an apologetic look towards the man at the table, he ran down the hallway of the complex, calling his name, but the other man was nowhere in sight.

Marluxia joined him in the search, upset that his presence had caused Zexion such trouble, as such a thing had clearly never happened before. As they looked, Zexion couldn't help but wonder – when had he become so attached to the older, naive man?

_It's been four months since he came, _he realized with a start. _Four whole months since he came into my life. _

With that thought, he ran even harder. Still, between the two of them, it took a good hour to locate the lonely man.

As Zexion squatted down, looking at the crumpled figure in the custodial closet on the eight floor, he felt a smile of relief pull his normally firm lips. Without a word, he reached in and pulled the silently sobbing figure into his arms. "I'm… sorry, Demyx," he murmured, stroking his hair as if he were a child, like his father figure had done for him as a child long before. "I'm sorry for yelling. Come have dinner with us now, alright?"

"I don't want to," Demyx sobbed.

"Why not? Is it because of Marluxia?" When the sobbing figure nodded, he sighed. "He's someone who… I care about a lot," he said at last. Expressing how he felt about people when all he felt was positives, without the negatives he was so logically aware of normally, was something that had always been difficult for him. "I would really like it if you played nice and were friendly to him. It would… make me very happy."

Demyx wanted to make him happy, that much he knew – so, continuing to cry unbecomingly, Zexion guided him down the hallway, into the elevator, and back to the apartment. Marluxia met them there, having received Zexion's text that he had found the runaway. To the smaller man's surprise, Marluxia had finished dinner and gotten everything ready for their return, even for Demyx.

"Thank you for understanding," Zexion murmured after their quiet meal. "He's vulnerable, like a child – I think he was just shocked that I know people other than him."

Marluxia laughed at that brightly. "He'll just have to get used to me," he replied before his expression turned serious. "That is, if you'll give me a chance to."

A part of him froze at that admission – searching Marluxia's teal gaze, he mentally searched for a label for that strange, hungry look in the elder's eyes. After a moment of realization, he understood what the other was expecting. It surprised him – in most cultures, what the other was suggesting was supposed to be a bit of a taboo, and yet here the man was, offering himself as a companion. Zexion himself had rarely thought of such fickle human fancies in the past, pushing everything aside to meet the needs of his ambition, but the curious part of his personality egged him on.

As a large hand cupped one cheek and the other pushed back the wall of smoky hair hanging before his right eye, Zexion's heart crumpled. Something felt wrong, like he was using the wrong subject to perform these intimate actions with.

But he allowed it to continue.

Demyx, who had been peeking out at the pair in the living room from behind the wall, caught his breath when the two scientists touched lips gently.

It was that day that he knew that this dream, this happiness, was coming to an end.

* * *

Demyx couldn't believe his ears.

Zexion held his calloused hands within his slender ones, a pleading look in his eyes. "Demyx, it's been almost ten months since you started living here," he reasoned. "Don't you think it's time to go back home?"

He shook his head furiously. "This is my home," he tried, but the younger man would have none of it.

"Demyx, whatever haunted you in the past, you can overcome it now. It's been such a long time – do you not think you can do it?"

The man snuggled his face further into the folds of the blanket – his favourite blanket, the one which smelled so strongly of Zexion – and shook his head. "I don't ever want to go back. I told you," he whispered brokenly.

Zexion groaned. "I know you're hurting, but the only way to move on is to face your fears!" he cried, standing up. "I can try to help you find a job and clean up your place, but that's all I can do! How can I know what you're even dealing with? You've never even told me why it was so messed up in there! Why the mirror was all broken, why the walls were bloody! If I don't know, then why should I care?" He sat back down, resting his face in his hands, suddenly exhausted from the uncharacteristic outburst. When he had managed to control his harsh, angry breathing, he looked back up and murmured, "That was out of line. I'm just trying to help-"

But Demyx was gone.

Marluxia came out of the bedroom, where he had left one of his numerous boxes. After the pair had gotten into their strange, explorative relationship that night six months before, he had finally decided to move in to be closer with Zexion, despite the younger's internal protests. Of course, that meant that Demyx couldn't stay – it was awkward enough having to endure those dinners with the childish man. So, Marluxia had finally convinced Zexion to let him go – but, judging from the raised voices he had heard coming from the living room, the younger's words hadn't been received well.

"He's not listening?" he asked, elegant brows raised in surprise when he saw Zexion looking at a depression in the couch in shock, the front door slightly ajar.

"He ran," he whispered, voice cracking unbecomingly. "He ran away from me. He left me here without letting me finish. He-"

"Hey, babe, it's okay," Marluxia murmured, rubbing his shoulders soothingly. "He'll come back soon, don't worry. Hasn't he run out like this before?"

Zexion nodded slowly, but his heart felt numb and hollow as the man picked him up and brought him to rest upon the bed – _their _bed, apparently, no matter how uncomfortable that idea actually made Zexion feel – as he finished unpacking. _Something's going to happen, _the academic thought darkly. _Something bad is going to happen, and it's going to be my fault. _Yet, he remained there, giving in to Marluxia's calming words and allowing himself to stay put. Even though he knew that he would regret this all someday, he just lay there, listening to Marluxia chatter on about something insignificant.

If only he had listened to his gut – if he had, he wouldn't have lost the one person who loved him unconditionally that day.

* * *

The sunset was just as beautiful, if not more so, as the day Demyx had been upon the rooftop when Zexion had saved him. The light streamed through the clouds, another little piece of heaven before his eyes. Staring up at the beauty, he drunk it all in – after all, that was his last chance to see heaven before he was sent wherever sinners like him belonged.

As he held himself off the railing, he paused, hesitating for a moment. _Won't Zexion miss me? _he wondered. Yet, in his heart, he knew that the younger man had never felt the same way about him, that he had never loved him the way he had loved Zexion, even if there had been a possible future between the two once upon a time. Demyx knew – he had taken too long to act, to convince Zexion that his wavering emotions were something strong, something _real, _that he shouldn't ignore. He had known Zexion's wavering thoughts regarding the ex-musician.

And yet, he hadn't done a thing. And that, that was his greatest sin of all.

And so, the last thing he saw before the concrete came rushing up from below was the city's skyline against the twilight sky, full of light and hope, and then the darkness claimed him.


End file.
